But my point is this: eventually, he blinded them all so they couldn’t identify him.’
‘So what are you saying?’
‘Look at the dead boys, Von.’ Danni held out the photo of Gilly McIlvanny. ‘This one in particular. There’s no way whoever killed him botched it. He knew this boy was dead.’
Gilly’s face swam before her eyes. She looked away quickly. ‘So what sort of a person blinds a corpse?’
‘One that’s deeply disturbed. And there’s something else. In every case, he used a mirror. Manny stated he took care to move the mirror so he could watch himself.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘Not for sex. But I’m not convinced he used the mirror to watch himself having sex.’
‘What then? To watch himself killing?’
‘That’s not unusual either, Von. I don’t need to remind you of the cases where the killers have recorded themselves.’
‘Liam’s body was found in a disabled lavatory. The cubicle didn’t have a mirror.’
‘Look at this schematic, though. If he opened the door, he’d see himself in the mirror above the basins. A bit risky, but the time of death was between 2.00am and 3.00am. It would have been quiet.’
Von pushed her hands through her hair. ‘And mutilating the dolls?’
‘The doll is an integral part of the process.’ Danni sighed heavily. ‘I just don’t know why.’
‘And Max Quincey? I know there was no evidence, but could he have killed the boys?’
‘Impossible to say without further information.’
‘Then here’s another question,’ Von said impatiently. ‘Could the killer of the boys also have killed Quincey?’
‘It’s a completely different pattern of behaviour.’
‘Come on, Danni, there are similarities.’
‘Quincey was strangled. His eyes were slashed. As were those of the doll. Okay, I give you that. But look at the boys’ faces. Their eyes were hacked so badly they lost their eyelids. And yet you had to point out to me that Quincey’s eyes had been cut. There’s also the mirror. There wasn’t one in Quincey’s room. The only mirror was in the bathroom and it couldn’t be seen from the bed, even with the bathroom door open.’
Von played with her pen. ‘Bottom line, Danni, what was the state of mind of the rent boys’ attacker?’
She hesitated. ‘This might sound strange, but I’d say, self-loathing.’
‘Yet he watched himself.’
‘Not unusual for someone who loathes himself.’
‘And Quincey’s killer?’
‘Hard to say. But I’m sure of one thing.’ She placed her hands flat on the desk. ‘The profile of the killer in the two cases is completely different. You’re looking for two separate people.’
‘We’re looking for a Mr X and a Mr Y? Look, could Mr X have evolved into Mr Y? Or becomes Mr Y when the conditions are right?’
‘Like Jekyll and Hyde?’ She shook her head slowly, her eyes steady. ‘Not a chance in hell.’ It was that look of defiance that Von disliked: Danni knew her expertise gave her the upper hand in the argument.
‘Have you ever been wrong, Danni?’
If Von had expected her to bristle, she was mistaken. ‘Ofcourse.’ Danni smiled, inclining her head. ‘But so have you.’
Von threw down the pen and stared out of the window. Maybe the Chief Super was right, and she was wasting her time on the Jack in the Box murders.
‘Not necessarily, boss,’ said Steve, tucking into a Cornish pasty.
They were in the Drunken Duck, having lunch. Although the Clerkenwell area was full of Italian cafés, which Steve preferred, Von always steered him to the Duck. It was a cheerful pub whose trademark was a giant castor-oil plant in the corner. The décor hadn’t changed since the seventies, yet despite the dinginess the place was frequented by the young and upwardly mobile who worked in nearby offices. Steve was generally wary of discussing police work in public places, but the alcoves in the Duck afforded almost complete privacy.
‘What do you mean, not necessarily?’ said
‘So what are you saying?’
‘Look at the dead boys, Von.’ Danni held out the photo of Gilly McIlvanny. ‘This one in particular. There’s no way whoever killed him botched it. He knew this boy was dead.’
Gilly’s face swam before her eyes. She looked away quickly. ‘So what sort of a person blinds a corpse?’
‘One that’s deeply disturbed. And there’s something else. In every case, he used a mirror. Manny stated he took care to move the mirror so he could watch himself.’
‘That’s not unusual.’
‘Not for sex. But I’m not convinced he used the mirror to watch himself having sex.’
‘What then? To watch himself killing?’
‘That’s not unusual either, Von. I don’t need to remind you of the cases where the killers have recorded themselves.’
‘Liam’s body was found in a disabled lavatory. The cubicle didn’t have a mirror.’
‘Look at this schematic, though. If he opened the door, he’d see himself in the mirror above the basins. A bit risky, but the time of death was between 2.00am and 3.00am. It would have been quiet.’
Von pushed her hands through her hair. ‘And mutilating the dolls?’
‘The doll is an integral part of the process.’ Danni sighed heavily. ‘I just don’t know why.’
‘And Max Quincey? I know there was no evidence, but could he have killed the boys?’
‘Impossible to say without further information.’
‘Then here’s another question,’ Von said impatiently. ‘Could the killer of the boys also have killed Quincey?’
‘It’s a completely different pattern of behaviour.’
‘Come on, Danni, there are similarities.’
‘Quincey was strangled. His eyes were slashed. As were those of the doll. Okay, I give you that. But look at the boys’ faces. Their eyes were hacked so badly they lost their eyelids. And yet you had to point out to me that Quincey’s eyes had been cut. There’s also the mirror. There wasn’t one in Quincey’s room. The only mirror was in the bathroom and it couldn’t be seen from the bed, even with the bathroom door open.’
Von played with her pen. ‘Bottom line, Danni, what was the state of mind of the rent boys’ attacker?’
She hesitated. ‘This might sound strange, but I’d say, self-loathing.’
‘Yet he watched himself.’
‘Not unusual for someone who loathes himself.’
‘And Quincey’s killer?’
‘Hard to say. But I’m sure of one thing.’ She placed her hands flat on the desk. ‘The profile of the killer in the two cases is completely different. You’re looking for two separate people.’
‘We’re looking for a Mr X and a Mr Y? Look, could Mr X have evolved into Mr Y? Or becomes Mr Y when the conditions are right?’
‘Like Jekyll and Hyde?’ She shook her head slowly, her eyes steady. ‘Not a chance in hell.’ It was that look of defiance that Von disliked: Danni knew her expertise gave her the upper hand in the argument.
‘Have you ever been wrong, Danni?’
If Von had expected her to bristle, she was mistaken. ‘Ofcourse.’ Danni smiled, inclining her head. ‘But so have you.’
Von threw down the pen and stared out of the window. Maybe the Chief Super was right, and she was wasting her time on the Jack in the Box murders.
‘Not necessarily, boss,’ said Steve, tucking into a Cornish pasty.
They were in the Drunken Duck, having lunch. Although the Clerkenwell area was full of Italian cafés, which Steve preferred, Von always steered him to the Duck. It was a cheerful pub whose trademark was a giant castor-oil plant in the corner. The décor hadn’t changed since the seventies, yet despite the dinginess the place was frequented by the young and upwardly mobile who worked in nearby offices. Steve was generally wary of discussing police work in public places, but the alcoves in the Duck afforded almost complete privacy.
‘What do you mean, not necessarily?’ said
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